Book of Cherished Flames
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: She'd left her wand back in the Gryffindor Common Room, not expecting to need it on a peaceful trip to the library... "What would you do if something ever happened to one of your precious books, Granger?" HHr
1. Start of Burning

**Book of Cherished Flames**

"Well, well, well. It's our very own Mudblood bookworm in, what other place, but the library. How…sickening," Draco Malfoy joked, sauntering up to Hermione Granger, who had snapped her head up at the voice coming toward her.

Ignoring he and his sniggering oafs following him, she almost immediately downcast her face to her book.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows amusingly, surprised by her lack of vocal response, and tried another tactic.

"What would you do if something ever…_happened_ to one of your precious books, Granger? Would you throw a fit? Cry, maybe? I think all of Slytherin would _love _to see that, a Mudblood crying over a stupid book!"

He, Crabbe, and Goyle laughed, but Hermione merely gave one quick glance upwards before being just as quickly attracted to the words on the page once again.

Malfoy was tried of being aggravate by this lesser girl; that was _his _job, to annoy _her_, not the other way around!

In an effort to win back dominance, he snatched the book from her hands; instantaneously, she jumped up and climbed across the table to get to him, which did startle him…just a little.

"Give that back right now, Malfoy! Give it back!" She cried as it was thrown between the three Slytherins, and Hermione had no choice but to simply jump and strain to retrieve it, having left her wand back in the Common Room, as she had not expected to need it on a _peaceful _trip to the library…

As today was the middle of the weekend and also a day of rest for the staff, not one person was in the library with them, not even Madam Pince. Therefore, Hermione was alone with the three Muggleborn-hating troublemakers, much to her dismay, and with two heavy disadvantages toying with her, she and her book were at their mercy.

Finally, she became fed up with their childish behavior, throwing her book around like it was a ball in Transfiguration rather than a delicate work of art, and let loose.

"DRACO MALFOY!!" The boy stopped dead in his place, as did the others, and gazed at her with wide eyes. _Now _they were in trouble. "You have absolutely _no right _to take that from me! It was a Christmas present from Harry! Now, for goodness sake, give it back and act your age!"

Her face, which had been classified as loathing and infuriated before, quickly transformed to a very uneasy white. Her eyes widened with horror as Malfoy's expression turned mischeviously malevolent, his own eyes narrowing as if he'd just read between the lines of a storybook.

"So…" He tossed the book up once, again, and then held it, the letters on its front spelling out the title, _New Theory of Numerology_, for the first time, gleaming silver in the light that streamed in through the windows. He looked from the words to her curiously. "Scar-Face gave this to you, eh? Mind telling me what makes that so special, Granger? Do you have feelings for him, Mudblood?"

Hermione stiffened and subconsciously took a half-step back, her face appearing as if she were about to be sick if she so much as opened her mouth to breathe.

"I…um…I…" Her cheeks highlighted pink, she could say nothing more as her heart was palpitated wrenchingly. Malfoy's eyes widened for an instant, but then narrowed as a new strategy formed in his mind.

He peered at the book again, scathingly this time, as if just the idea of Harry's hands touching it made him want to drop it and run from the room…but he didn't. Keeping his eyes on it, he said,

"Well, if this is from Potter, all the _more_ reason to destroy it! Ha! Ha!" He threw the book up and cried, "Incendio!"

"No!" But Hermione was too late; the book burst into flames the next second and came down upon one of the large wooden tables, beginning to burn it, too, as the leather-bound reader incinerated.

Without a second thought, Hermione lunged forward and thrust her hand into the flames, her panic and loyalty clouding her better judgment.

Her senses kicked in again soon enough, but she continued to reach for the book, only letting out a mostly muffled scream as the first wave of pain rippled through her.

She tried her best to fight the tears that were intent on falling, but more than a few of them did escape as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the intense hurting.

Her hand was burning severely and she knew it, but she would not let that book burn to resemble firewood remnants; she couldn't. Because it had been a gift from Harry, it was, for her, as though it were a connection to him, a part of him that she couldn't live without.

The hurt that had seared through her before was now just a numb memory, and her hand was almost a blur through the different hues of the fire as she strained to rescue the smoldering mound of pages.

The whole while, Malfoy and his entire gang (Pansy had joined them after Hermione's shriek had sounded) were watching her risk her hand, and soon to be arm, for a _book_ of all things; it had been given to her out of the hands of _Pot-Head_, no less!

Malfoy's eyes, in particular, were incredibly huge, realizing that his supposed-to-be joke from before had actually been correct…

**Flashback **

"_Mind telling me what makes that so special, Granger? Do you have feelings for him, Mudblood?" _

"_I…um…I…"_

**End Flashback**

It seemed impossible to him, being born of such a rich, high-society family, that a Mudblood and a famous wizard, best friend of the dirty-blooded filth, could ever combine in real love and be one.

But as he observed the girl now, fighting for something that appeared so trivial to him, yet so precious to her, he feverishly found it was not unbelievable…because he believed.

When he at last took hold of reality again, he was amazed to see her nearing the book; just a few more inches, and it would be hers once again. However, what really took his notice was the condition of her hand.

It was obvious that the injury was already far past third-degree, and he was blatantly surprised she hadn't lost that limb yet, as it seemed that merely one layer of skin remained before the inner bones, muscles, and blood was exposed.

As his eyes scanned her up and down, he found that her body was not in the best condition either: her hair and robes were sticking to her heavily perspirating body due to the heat, and he could see that she was having quite a hard time breathing through the sky-high temperature.

Yet, she would never give up.

**_A/N: Please tell me what you thought in a review! Thanks! By the way, can you guess the book, and/or part of that book, on which this story is based? _**


	2. Kindly Reliving

However, it seemed that even the fire loved toying with her emotions, as it spread further toward her, engulfing the chair directly at her front, thus sending the book an even greater distance from her.

Hermione jumped back, finally yanking her hand from the burning embers, but only for a second; she instantaneously moved to the side and forced it into the source of heat again, not even flinching at the unbearable pain it was sure to have caused.

Knowing full well that there was an exact spell for such a growth, he peered around at each of his housemates; his eyes narrowed when he saw Pansy glowering triumphantly at Hermione, her face one of sick pleasure as her wand was balanced between the index fingers of both hands.

He hand no idea why he was glaring; he hadn't even noticed he was until Pansy had caught his gaze and looked at him questioningly.

He shook his head and smiled approvingly, though he could feel that it was faux; Pansy bought it, however, and slipped her wand back into the pocket of the blue spring dress she'd put on because of the lack of classes.

What was coming over him so abruptly? He couldn't comprehend why he was suddenly disapproving of something _he _had started, or why he was feeling _sympathy _for the Mudblood, rather than excitement that she was most likely going to lose her arm?!

He honestly wasn't accustomed to the first emotion in the least, not in any form whatsoever; he had felt pain, disappointment, anguish, had cried a few secret tears, happiness, victory, and a range of other various emotions, though the good majority were from the negative side… But he had never in his _life _experienced _sympathy_, and for another person…it was absurd! What would his Father say?

It was unknown to him why he was unexpectedly feeling doubt, but for some reason, while one side of him said to resist the temptation of defying his Father_just _once, another reminded that he'd never really felt what it was to _live_, and that part of living was to be his own person.

As the second realization came to mind and penetrated his heart, he, for the first time, felt hot water droplets forming in his eyes, his mouth open slightly in shock, as he thought back on his fifteen years.

His Father…his Father treated him like a son, yes, but merely enough so that 'common people', as his Father called them, would not become concerned for the boy's health.

Their reason for possibly being disconcerted was how he was treated at home, and elsewhere; he knew about his Father's past, though he had only been told the truth just before school started, but already it was beginning to affect him. Unbeknownst to him until recently, he had been trained since near birth to someday join Voldemort's legion of Death Eaters, and when he did, his top priority would be to kill one boy, and one boy only: Harry Potter.

_When_…that is what had unnerved Malfoy the most about anything his parents had told him; _when _and _if _he became a Death Eater would have been a more comforting phrase. But, according to his Father, and the sharp slap he had received when questioning it, there was no way out of joining his line; even in death itself, the Dark Lord was faithfully rumored to find you.

If he were to be completely and undeniably honest with himself, he would have never spoken to his Mother or Father again from that point on, moved out, and started over by first becoming friends with Harry, Hermione, the Weasels, Longbottom, and even that Loony girl. He definitely would have, had he not been born to the most traitorous, manipulative parents on earth.

In truth, it was such a desolate time for the Wizarding world, what with the debate over Potter's stores being worthless lies or the glory-held truth going on, along with other misfortunes springing up everywhere, that Draco sometimes forgot what school held for him: a chance to get away from the oppression and unwanted future that awaited him each time he returned home.

Each holiday, the Hogwarts Express would transport him home, only to have himself faced with grueling lessons from his Father, different sorts from his Mother, and sometimes, Bellatrix Lestrange would introduce and train the boy to use her most horrible techniques.

He swore on his life that he'd never use any of the Unforgivables on another human, or creature, for that matter, if the only reason being he saw them as limitlessly barbaric, and they had, on a few rare occasions, made him relive his meals.

There was no way he'd have told anyone even a smidgen of this information, though; if anyone had found out, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself would steal into their residence and kill his parents one by one, slowly and painfully, right in front of him.

No matter how much he _hated _his parents, they _had _given him a home and allowed him to go to Hogwarts, which, even if they didn't know it, was his secret retreat from all that he had been born into; thus, he wouldn't allow them to be sacrificed simply for his lack of love for them.

Through all that he had been cursed to witness and live with, he hadn't realized what it was to wear a _kind _smile, a _compassionate_, _warm_ smile to anyone, or feel what it brought along.

But now, as he became aware that the girl was once again meters from the book, her lower arm just beginning to suffer the same damage as her barely recognizable hand, he arrived at the conclusion that it was high time he had.

A warm feeling crept its way into the pit of his stomach that soon branched out to the rest of his body, and there was not a single moment of hesitation from his lips as he finally smiled.

_**A/N: It's a bit shorter than I had planned, but I thought this would be a good place for a pause. Please review! Thank you!**_


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